Mr SongWriter
by Vinylsoda
Summary: Shortly after the Prom, Dave Kurofsky begins to regret turning down Kurt's first dance as King and Queen. The long summer begins to swirl in front of him; full of promise. His friendship with Santana deapens as she helps him try and win over Kurt Hummel.


**-Mr. Songwriter**

Dave Kurofsky sits in an empty classroom. Its summer, summer _school_, but everyone has already gone home. Sprinklers hiss outside and pump on the windows every twenty seconds.

Mr. Shuester comes in, apologizing. "I guess Mercedes was having a problem with her car alarm...which will happen when you try to break in to your own car." as he speaks, he is depositing his messenger back on the floor next to his desk, un-straightening his tie, and depositing himself into a thick-backed desk chair. Dave sits, his head low, his hands balled together in his lap. "I have to say, I really wasn't expecting to see you, I was a little shocked when Santana told me." Mr. Shue admits calmly, leaning forward on his forearms. "So" he lets lose a small sigh, "what can I do for you Dave?" Kurofsky looks up, his brows clenched, the same as his jaw.

"I need you to write me a song..." his voice is tender. Vulnerable, bordering on fragile.

"Oh, okay." he thinks for a moment. Remembering all the trouble this boy had caused only last year, and for such an odd reason. "To be honest with you Dave, I'm kind of tapped out after _The April Rhodes Story_, I think I might've used all my song-writer's mojo up for now..." Mr. Shue laughs slightly at the thought, getting up to go to the window. Remembering that time he'd spent in New York, singing on that stage. What seems like ages ago, but is only months. The sprinkler throws a heavy stream of water on the glass, thumping like fists; Mr. Shuester is taken aback and turns away. As he turns, he looks at Dave, thinking the problem solved, though, as soon as the thought is born, he registers the pain in Kurofsky's eyes. The fact of the matter is; this was his last shot. Dave's face grows tighter with each syllable leaning away from the epic ballad he had come to expect, the fact of the matter now becoming fully available to him. Ready to speak, to denounce Shuester's credibility as the school's most compassionate Spanish teacher, Kurofsky opens his mouth.

_Only one wet syllable comes out. _

Shuester works fast. "But, let me see what I can do. It's been awhile, but maybe I've bounced back since then." He smiles, that soft, closed-mouth smile he's perfected at lost Glee Club tournaments; Accepting 4ths and 6ths when the kid deserved much more. The same smile he used to feel pull at his mouth when Emma Pillsbury would do something uncontrollable.

Relieved, Dave smiles. "Thanks Mr. Shuester. Santana said that you would help me. I need to get going, my dad gets home in an hour and I'm supposed to mow the lawn." he stands and walks out the door, given a new hope, a resolve. This will be a good summer.

-**Responsibilities**

Dave Kurofsky pushed his father's lawn mower back and forth across the grass of his front yard. His childhood home; a place he's lived all his life. Only this last year has it changed for him. With the realization that he can no longer repress himself, this house has become dangerous. _Strained_. As if, at any moment, an air raid will rip its roof off and start hurtling him away from his family. He had become uncharacteristically reserved, his mother had noticed this, but said nothing.

The mower blades provide a tranquilizing hum, and Dave is able to relax for the first time in weeks. He let the sun fill over his shoulders, hoping it would shine through the ancient tank he wore. It had already browned his neck and arms.

His mind flashed over recent events; Prom, pinning the corsage to his dates breast, how his hands had not shaken. Eating three cheeseburgers at last weekend's family barbeque, rather than speak to his parents or extended, visiting relatives; he put himself in a meat coma. Going to the mall with Santana, who was quickly becoming his best friend as most of the guys from the football team flocked to summer girlfriends and people who hadn't, "changed since school let out." Dave hadn't changed. Not on purpose. It wasn't up to him.

He saw his mother on the porch, but didn't hear her, or rather, he didn't notice her speaking or waving her arms in the air until it was too late. The mower banged against something hard, the blades stopping their rhythmic song. "Oh David _really_!" she said, jogging up to him and the ruined flowers she'd spent the last two months primping, the chip on the bird bath. Red and white, spiraled like a peppermint candy, now sprinkled the lawn with their plumage. Dave blinked, taking it in; he'd never noticed how much the school colors looked like bloodshed before, or that his parents had also worn them. "Honestly, I don't know what's up with you lately _mister_, but it better be good," Dave tightened his jaw, reflexively, "you've been walking around like your brain is mush for weeks now..." Mrs. Kurofsky said as she lowered to her haunches inspecting the damage. She sighed to herself. They're only flowers she thought; thank god she liked to garden. She stood and smiled to her son, now a good two feet taller than her. "Great thing about flowers; they make the seeds themselves." She took in her son's sheepish smirk, how he could be such the strong silent type when he wanted to be, how he used to cry at night, how her husband had called him a momma's boy when he was younger, how she saw nothing wrong with that. "What're you doing for dinner? Your father's going to be working late. I was thinking take out, or even grilling something up." She waited for his response. Thought she already knew what it was.

"Sorry mom. I'm supposed to go out with Santana...it's kind of our anniversary." Dave looked away, cocking an eyebrow up. It had been two months since she had confronted him, calling him a Late-In-Life-Gay. Now, it was almost like their dating each other was for real. Although, they generally went out on triples with Britany, and they split every check at BreadStix down the middle. It was truly a modern relationship. He watched, waited for his mother's response. As if she would've said no.

"You go inside and get washed up; I'll put the lawn mower away." she said, slapping him on the shoulder. A little hard he thought.

**-Beard**

Santana lay down the side of her bed, what looked like liquid-leather poured over her legs in the shape of high-waisted shorts over a white, one-piece bathing suit. Britany sat Indian style behind her in a pair of pink paisley micro shorts and yellow tank top, French-braiding Santana's long, black hair; the job looked professional. The girl was about as dumb as you could get, but she knew how to do hair and makeup. She sure could dance too. Santana leafed lazily through an old magazine found under the bed minutes before; Dave sat at the computer desk. He was waiting for a response. The loose fibers of his cut-off pajama pants tickled at the knee caps. His arms, exposed from under a sleeveless muscle tee, ached from sun burn.

_Flip Flip Flip_

"He's not going to answer it. He _has _a boyfriend..." She was right, though he'd hate to admit it. "They're made for each other; they're a two-man-musical." Britany laughed with her mouth closed. Then looked up and apologized in her dazed monotone.

_Flip Flip Flip_

"I mean, I'm not going to say you can do _better_, just that I think you can find someone whose more..._your speed_...have you checked Craigslist?" Santana was right, though however biased. People in relationships always acted like getting to where they were was as easy as calling in for a pizza. Dave shot her a look.

"You don't know, he _could _answer." Dave swiveled in the desk chair, it creaked under his hefty frame. "Besides, it's a W_ednesday _night; _what else _could he be doing?" what else could _anyone _be doing? It was a million degrees outside, the only suitable thing to do was staying at home, arguing with your fake girlfriend, and sending Facebook messages to the only boy you'd kissed and assaulted in the same week. The only boy there was in the world. Britany looked off for a second.

"What if he's trapped in something, it happens to people all the time." she paused, looking at Santana's puzzled expression. Dave's arms crossed over his knees, now pushed to his chin on the swivel chair. "It happened to me this morning."

Santana sat up and smiled. "Yeah, but then I found you and we decided you could just use my shower from now on." Britany had been staying with her basically since the night of Prom. Neither of their parents suspected there was anything more than what everyone else expected; girls were inseparable; cheerleaders were _conjoined_. Britany looked down, cocking her head to the side.

"Your house is really confusing...and Mexican." Santana laughed loudly, her fillings showed, and flopped down on the bedspread. As black and shiny as her hair and eyes. Just then the computer chirped. The little flag above Dave's inbox showed a number one, ballooned in orange. "Oh my god." they all seemed to as, though no one said anything. Then, his hand pushing the mouse to hover over the bridge between life and death, he froze.

"I can't do it." he said, flinching back as if the computer might bite. His fake girlfriend huffed and pushed herself off the bed.

"Oh god, if you don't stop acting like such a freak I'm dumping you." She stooped over him, clicking the mouse. Dave noticed the sweat pooling at her lower back. Watching her expression changing as she read. The fullness in her lips pursing and straightening as she finished the message. "What did you say to him?" he hadn't meant for her to know. Dave looked away at Britany, now laying on her back and balancing the same magazine above her on one foot. "_Dave_."

He sighed heavily, rolling his head from the left to right. His voice came out as a whine, the top lip curling up at the left. "_Nothing_, just like, _maybe _we could all get together and hang out because it's been a while and stuff and...I don't know." Santana jutted one hip out to the side.

"You _said _you were telling him _how you felt_. God you wuss. this is the last time you're using my computer to ask out a guy." she rolled her eyes and walked over to the closet, getting her clothes together for whatever this get-together was and whenever it was going to be. Britany pushed herself onto the edge of the bed, scooting across it.

"You love Kurt?" Kurofsky nodded. "That's really awesome..." she said, though her face registered no such sentiment.

**-On the Edge**

The shape in the mirror turned and arched, pushed its middle out and bent the arms. Dave Kurofsky was scared he might be fat. Not scared, concerned. He'd heard there were guys who liked that, seen their comments on his GayAllDay profile (there weren't any photos of his face, and his name definitely wasn't on it though his football uniform was), but he didn't think he wanted to be liked for being chubby. He'd always been that kid in class, engineered for lifting, pushing; the one who held the ladder. He'd never thought it would matter; now he wasn't so sure.

He'd seen Blaine at Prom; slender, thin, _lithe_. That was part of the reason why he'd yelled at him and Kurt in the hall, though it killed him to do so. He remembered the thought; _so this is what he wants, what I'm not, what I can't be, this is what Kurt wants..._ and then the _, and Santana's face as she yelled at him. It was the jealousy that scared him, and ultimately made him realize what had been making him so mad. Dave affected a soft expression in the mirror, looked earnestly at his middle, the hair burrowing out from his belly button. "Who could love this...?"

Santana pulled up out front with Britany in the silver convertible that was hers if she graduated on time. They beeped twice, then stood in their seats and danced along wildly to the radio. Kurofsky threw a t-shirt over himself and ran down the stairs, his feet pounding the new carpeting down where it bubbled up. His mom called his name from the kitchen, a question mark hung at the end of it. "I'm just going to the mall mom; Santana and Britany are already outside." His dad said yes, they'd noticed. An eyebrow raised and newspaper in his lap. Mr. Kurofsky doesn't particularly care for these wild girls. Though they both knew that not too long ago, his wife had jerked her body around just like them in his parents' driveway.

His mom called out the door as Dave slipped into a hoody, though it was way too warm for one; was he eating here or would he be going out again tonight? "Uh. I mean, I don't know. I'll have to see what the girls wanna do. I'll call you. Bye." And with that, he'd scrambled out the door and jogged down his parent's red, flagstone walkway.

Dave climbed into the back seat, the girls resumed their seated positions up front and turned the radio down. Santana made a face somewhere between a smile and a frown. "Um, are you okay Flop Sweat?" Dave hadn't realized it yet, but he had already started to sweat through the t-shirt. His brow glinted with beads of heavy sweat, and it was embarrassing how flushed his face was. He couldn't wait to get into the comfort of the climate controlled environment that was the Lima mall.

"I'm fine." he huffed, "can you drive?" She turned around in her seat with a sarcastic smirk and gunned the engine. Britany sat backwards in her seat for a second, taking in the image of the soggy Dave Kurofsky. "What Britany, what is it." he said, not trying to sound mean, but it was hot and she _was _staring. Britany wasn't phased.

"You look like the ham my parents made for my birthday." Dave just stared at her. "I didn't want to eat any baby chickens, so we had ham instead of cake; there's no chicken in ham." and with that she turned around in her seat and fastened her seat belt. Santana Laughed again.

"That's right babe, no baby chicks in a ham." and cut the wheel to turn at what was almost definitely a right angle down the main street of Lima, Ohio.

**- How He Stacks Up**

Kurt and Blaine weren't the only people they were meeting up with, there was also going to be Finn and Mercedes. Rachel Berry said she'd try to stop by but was super busy going through the comments on her Youtube channel; flagging the riffraff, it seems the approval bug hit her hard in the summer months without Glee Club. He'd invited Mike Chang and Tina too, but they would be visiting her grandma. Puck was busy cleaning pools all day, and Artie had taken a job as a camp counselor for the summer at a get-away for kids with physical disabilities. Sam didn't respond to the e-vite. Quinn and her mom had scheduled family photos that day, the first since the baby came and her dad left. "Best to get them with a tan," she'd said, "makes your teeth and eyes brighter." Siezes was working at the _Taco Stando _in the food court; she said she'd get them some free stuff.

They were supposed to meet outside the Barnes&Noble, since foot traffic was lowest there and the people waiting could maybe get an over-priced coffee drink from inside it. Dave bought one for both girls, and held them while they walked lazily through the store, arms locked.  
>"Hey, why don't we sit down so we can see when the others get here." he said, feeling like the dad of two very strange sisters. Santana scoffed and threw her back like a horse.<p>

"Why, so you can sneak up behind them and throw Blaine in the oven at _Pretzels Pretzels Pretzels_? Whatever." The conjoined twins flopped down in the same stiff, green armchair with a clear view of the aisles outside of the store. Dave stood behind them, like a guard, still holding the drinks both girls had forgotten they'd even gotten. The girl at the pretzel shop held her head up with fist, blinked, made half-open eye contact with Kurofsky, and blew a large purple bubble with her gum. The girls shared an Italian Vogue and pointed out which pieces they wanted. Dave started to worry the others weren't going to show, it had already been thirty-three minutes. The caramel-saturated drinks were mostly ice water by now.

A Maori tribe chant piped through the in-store speakers. Dave closed his eyes against the fact that he was now freezing; his sweat had cooled but not dried. His nipples were hard and the hoody seemed to have shrunk under his arms. He saw himself on a beach in New Zealand, panted up with swirling, teal tattoos like one of those tanned warriors. Kurt stood next to him in a chunky cable-knit sweater, holding a cup of hot chocolate. Smiling. Kurt was smiling at him. Just then, a wave crashed and his eyes opened.

"Oh thank God! We've been waiting for two hours!" Santana said throwing herself off the chair and running out to Mercedes and Finn who were walking past. Britany followed. Dave smiled, hoping this would put him at ease. It did, a little. He and Finn exchanged awkward guy hugs; one arm, two pats on the back. Mercedes flashed her hand up in a wave hello, smiled and said as much. Then they were quiet. Mercedes was the first to speak.

"So, has anyone heard from Kurt?" she looked to each of the faces, spent the least on Dave's. Finn laughed, said he and Blaine had left early that morning, had an Outlet Mall Emergency Kurt had told him, which Finn relayed with an earnest shrug-grimace combo. They all laughed. Dave, smiled said he hoped they got there soon. Each made noncommittal agreements, nodded, looked at their shoes.

"Is anyone hungry?" Finn said, genuflecting a little too much, "I haven't eaten all day, Burt and I've been in the garage." Mercedes said she could eat. Santana said it was whatever, but she was dying of thirst. Britany shared that she hadn't eaten for two days once, except for breakfasts, and dinners.

As they sit at one of the food court wrought iron tables, Siezes taking her break early to join them, "I've been Up Selling Tacos for the past four hours; they can fire me and I'll sue for child labor." ,The Glee Club kids share memories and complaints about what they would've done differently. Finn and Kurofsky make some talk about Football and how the Lima U teams look this year; strong in baseball, lacking in the others. Dave tries his hand at Glee-speak; "So yeah, Santana was telling me you guys totally destroyed at nationals but you didn't even place? that's such bull." taking a sip of his drink, trying to sip manly-like, the others roar about how they were pretty great, definitely top ten, I mean, I thought so, better than that other school.

"Their choreography was really sloppy". Mercedes clarifies to him, confidentially.

"And they sucked. A lot. They were worse than Finn" Santana adds, nodding at him with a smirk. This is where Dave joins in again," You guys are super crazy dedicated. Just for one song, that halftime thing we did, I was whipped. It was fun though." and then the offers start.

"Yeah man, you should come back when school starts up this year." encouragement from Finn.

"No one's gonna mess with you; Mr. Prom King." Mercedes waggles her head and affects a cocky expression.

"Its not that big a deal, I mean, at least you get to take it instead of another class. I only took it because Shop was full." Seizes down plays the entire experience. With that, Britany stands and starts waving her arms like she's ship wrecked.

"We have to get Kurt's attention otherwise we'll be here forever." she says, not desperate but matter-of-factly. Mercedes nods. Dave twists around in his chair, knocking his elbow on the shiny nub of an arm.

Kurt and Blaine walk up, laughing. Some inside joke. Kurt waves back, wearing a white dress shirt, with cool grey stove-pipe pants. His hair stacked high, the stitching on the pants replaced with lemon yellow thread. Blaine wears a clingy v-neck t-shirt and slim-fit jeans. A pair of necklaces stacked around his neck that bounce off his flat stomach as he walks. Kurofsky feels a drop of sweat slide down his sides.

Kurt hugs all the girls hello, shares an in-joke with Mercedes. They both place a hand, palm down, above their own head and swerve their bodies; as if to realign them. Then laugh. Finn flashes his open, triangular smile and nods hello to Kurt and Blaine. Blaine raises a hand and smiles back. Kurt stops, slightly, at Dave. "Kurofsky." he smiles knowingly. Blaine looks to Kurt, then Kurofsky, _smiling_. Like that whole business in the hallway never happened.

Dave is tongue tied, mouth open, flopping. Seizes checks her watch.

"Well, this is great but I have to get back. Come visit me again soon and I'll steal some more." she gets up and goes back to the _Taco Stand. _Britany, oddly enough, saves him from the awkwardness.

"All the cups are empty. We'll get more." Dave nods in agreement. At the Taco Stando, Seizes now getting unimpressively chewed-out by her manager, Britany explains the refills and Dave watches Kurt and Blaine sit together, Blaine's arm over Kurt's shoulder, their knees touching; heads instinctively tilted in. His eyebrows pull up together and his mouth falls without meaning too. "You look like a hobo clown. You should just tell him, then he'll know and you guys can be happy like me and Santana." Kurofsky looks at her, incredulous. It can't possibly be that simple. "You don't want to waste time not doing things, then you won't get anything done." Kurofsky nods slowly, accepting this uncommonly-sage advice, though he's not sure if he should, and takes four refilled sodas from Seizes. She gives him a once over as he and Britany walk away.

"Thank god I got to Puckerman first..." she said, turning to dip another stolen chip in her secret stash of guacamole."That boy is a _slut_."

**-I Would Do Just About Anything**

That night, Dave lay on his bed. Staring at the ceiling, wondering if it really was as simple as Britany had said. _Just do it...don't waste time... _he heard it over and over, but it couldn't really be like that. He thought back to the drive home that afternoon, still horrified at his lack of anything close to smoothness during lunch. "You didn't _tell him why _did you?" he'd shouted over the wind and car radio. Luchadore music with its brassy horns and half-talented singers; why were they listening to this? Santana spoke without turning around, her arms stiff at the wheel.

"_God_, no." she sounded mortified at the very thought of tender sentiment. Britany switched the station to NPR, National Public Radio. "I told them you still felt bad about your little _bitch fit _in the hallway, and for not dancing with Kurt at prom." Dave's face went white, his eyes wide and full. Throwing his face in his hands he spoke with much unaccustomed drama.

"Oh my _god_," he bellowed, "you said I was _sorry _for not _dancing _with him?" there was a pit in his stomach. A pit that had come and gone periodically since that first, ice-breaking slushie. Britany turned her head slowly, sitting backwards in her seat again. Did these girls not believe in seat belts?

"Isn't that the point? You want Kurt to think you're nice, so Santana said you felt bad about stuff; that makes you look nice." Her face registered no emotion, only the fact of the matter. Dave secretly wondered if she wasn't half-cat or something.

"I want him to like me..." was all he said, face still hidden. Britany reached her hand forward, patted the back of his head.

"He will", was all she said, "He will."

Dave fell asleep shortly after that, exhausted from the day's embarrassment and realizations that he _wasn't _Blaine. At all. Not even slightly. He decided to just take a shower and go to bed; this day wasn't going to get any better.

Falling onto his bed before dressing, he closed his eyes for a second. They burned from the heavy heat of the bathroom.

Before he knew it, Dave Kurofsky was asleep, playing football, which he often dreamt he did, but this time the stadium was a gigantic Styrofoam cup. With each touchdown (from his or the opposing team), a square tank which seemed to move whoever he'd look up to find it, filled with Grape slushie. Inside this cube was Kurt. This made winning very difficult. With each point made, the invisible crowd cheered and made such a racket that he considered not scoring anymore. This wasn't really up to him though. The other team was so quick, so small, that they were nearly impossible to tackle; even harder to see. By the time Dave had chased one down, two others had cruised past him and scored. The tank filled up to Kurt's waist, who looked at Kurofsky and scoffed. A flicker of dejection went through him.

Suddenly, his helmet was gone. Along with his jersey and pads. His bare skin still ached from the sunburn; it itched more than anything. The rain started falling, shaved ice actually. Slushie, without any flavoring. It bore into his skin as he ran and tripped him up, fruitlessly trying to catch the shrinking dwarves of the other team. He could feel the cold slickness of the ground, it was seeping through the fiber of his shoes, his toes started to freeze.

His own teammates were no help, lying down on the ground, making flake-angels and laughing. Kurt's breath began to bubble up from under a thick film of purple. He ran harder, he tackled randomly, diving at anything anywhere near himself. His sight began to waver; he could only hear Kurt's gurgling gasps. He screamed and swiped, fell to his knees, his hands becoming huge paws of coarse hair and gnashing, jet black teeth. The opposing team circled around his huddled body, jeering and poking at him. The teeth brought a sharpness behind his eyes and muscles; it was like a migraine all over his body. He looked up at them, trying to understand; _what did they even get out of winning this game, what was there to laugh about?_

With one last surge of pain, the final teeth taking their place at his fingertips, Kurofsky knew what had to be done.

Heaving a handful of them above his head, he threw his hands into the faces of four others. He could feel their insides across his forearms, though it was not blood that now matted his fur.

He pushed forward, flinging his arms out like a speed skater, cleaving through both McKinley player and enemy alike. The field grew smaller, the tank now fixed at the opposite end of the field. His feet felt heavy, though he was unsure why. By now, thanks to the tiny nails of his adversaries, what was left of his uniform was nearly gone; his shoes long torn off of him by those felled but not destroyed. He got to the tank and put his face to it; it was much larger than he'd imagined, at least nine feet tall. His cheeks slid along its cool surface, trying to figure out just where Kurt was in all that muck. He placed his hands against the glass, the teeth clinking against it. They made a soft growling sound he hadn't noticed before. He felt that pit in his stomach again. Just then a form swerved inside the case, Kurofsky's entire body flashed upright. He screamed, but only a dry tension at the back of his throat would come out. He tried it again and again, but each time the same gurgling came out. He looked harder, pounding this time, the walls vibrating with each hit. Again; the dancing figure. This time it made a full circled and met him face-to-face. It smiled and tapped back on the glass. But it wasn't Kurt. In fact, he didn't recognize her at first.

It was Santana; she was smiling. He jerked back, alarmed and confused. Although, she seemed to be doing just fine and Kurt had apparently escaped the cubes confines long ago. He tried talking again, calling out her name, but still nothing. She held a finger up to her lips. Kurofsky fell silent. Closing her eyes, Santana took a long breath, blew a purple bubble that floated to the top of the tank and popped. Then, as if over the stadium speaker, her voice rumbled through him, suddenly very aware of his nakedness,_ "I'm the only hag you'll ever have that doesn't secretly want to convert you; you know that right?"_

The cube cracked down the middle, Kurofsky was knocked over by the sludge. It filled his ears, his eyes, seemed to pour into his mouth though he could not taste it. He kicked and threw himself this way and that, trying to get a foot hold. Just as he thought he might never breathe air again, that Kurt and Santana had left him, he woke.

Lying on his bedroom floor, in little more than the towel he'd fallen onto bed wearing after his shower he felt very tired, though he had just been sleeping for three and a half hours. He never wanted to see the color purple again; playing football was a close second.

**-Whip it Up**

Dressing the next morning was a delicate experience. Dave's shoulders had started to peel along with the bridge of his nose and parts of his chest. Within half an hour, his hamper was near full with false starts; too itchy, too tight, too..._something_. Only did he commit to an outfit when he heard the familiar turbulence sitting in the driveway outside. Sliding his BullyWhips jacket on over a stock t-shirt and jeans, he tucked the ridiculous red beret into its pocket.

Primary responsibilities of the summer school BullyWhips entailed getting Britney to class on time, bringing ditchers to the front office, and making sure the incoming freshman egg-heads didn't get harassed for being smart. Most of the time, Santana and Kurofsky walked the halls and drank free soda from the teacher's lounge. They got paid now too.

"I had a really..._weird..._dream last night." he said, turning a corner, his shoulders slumped. _Why did sunburn make you feel twenty pounds heavier? _The halls were barren, it was creepy and liberating. A teacher instructed his class to bring out their books, this might be summer school, but we still had to learn. Santana followed a second later, jumping around it with a flourish, striking a pose like a TV cop.

"Oh, _fun_." she made a sexy face, then, "if I'm in it, don't tell me." Dave laughed.

"You _were_, you were in this-" Santana interrupted him, placing her hands over her ears and la-la-la-la-ing him until he couldn't hear himself anymore. "-IT WAS THIS GLASS TANK THAT WAS FILLED UP WITH SLUSHIES!" he shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. Another teacher shot them both a look and closed her door. "_Grape _slushie..." he mumbled, hands now pushed in his pockets.

"Oh. That's pretty kinky, I knew you were gay but wow." Dave ignored her.

"Then I had claws_...and fangs_?" it came back to him slowly, "I think I had _fangs _too." They stopped walking. She turned to look up at him.

"_Fangs_?" she said, unintentionally tonguing at where her own would be. Dave nodded gravely. Santana shook the thought away, decided to talk about something that'd been bothering her. "So, I was thinking. Were you serious when you said you were going to kill Kurt or was that just like your football-hockey-player way of flirting." she spoke so cavalierly. Dave stopped following her down the hall.

"That was...not what I meant." at the time, unfortunately, Dave was ill-equipped. He wasn't ready...he didn't want to think about it. "Can we not talk about this?"

"Oh my god. I totally forgot; you slushied me before." Dave watched her, scared, as she slowly turned to face him. "I owe you one." then she laughed, the noise he'd come to identify with acceptance. There was safety in that brassy fog horn. "That was the day you were all like,'oh, I've just been _pumping _in the gym _rrrgh_! Do I smell _fairy dust_?' "She took on a gooney voice and flexed her arms forward and back, shaking at her mock growl.

Dave couldn't help but smile. He didn't want to, but that person was gone. Or most of him was anyway. He was different now.

"Anyway, don't freak, I was just thinking about. I know you wouldn't really have done it. C'mon, we have to go pick-up Britany." She walked back to his side, took his hand. "But what would've you had done if I hadn't been there before the benefit concert?" they walked slowly, in tandem. Dave thought for a moment. Then chuckled.

"Honestly", he said. She nodded."Nothing. I was kind of hoping Figgins would come by or something." Santana shrieked, slapped him playfully on the arm.

"I knew it! Some bully, you're like a huge puppy." Dave smiled to himself.

"Can we make that Teddy Bear instead?" the hall flooded with kids, though thankfully much less than usual.

**-A Gentle Man's Agreement**

"I think it'd be good for Kurt." Kurofsky was trying to not look like a deer in the headlights, which was the grand total of his brain functions at this moment. Blaine sat across from him, half in-costume half out. His cheeks were still rouged from a mock-up from the makeup department. "Especially since I've been so busy with the show lately and he has such strict policies about not discussing our solo work..." he looked down and away at this, cocking an eyebrow slightly. Dave held his face-of-stone. He secretly hoped he'd be able to intimidate Blaine with it, but this boy was a special classification; Theatre Kid. They can spot an affected nature at a quarter mile, smell you at ten. Blaine sipped his _latte-mocha-blah blah-whatever_, "he needs someone to pal around with, everyone's been so busy. Mercedes hasn't been returning his calls, _we think it's a guy_." he whispered. Dave pulled the corner of his mouth up in a congenial effort to assimilate into the group. "Anyway, he's starting to sound like _Blanche Dubois_, and I was thinking who better to help?" Kurofsky quickly saw Kurt wearing lacey curtains over his shoulders, his voice a southern wisp; _"I've always depended on the kindness of strangers..." _Then the tone shifted.

"Are you okay? I don't mean to pry, but you look like you're going to be sick..." Dave had not realized when he slipped from composure, but it had already happened; no matter how briefly. His eyes now bulged, his jaw had laxed considerably, and he now leaned forward to an imposing degree.

"I'm fine, just tired." he said, flopping back into his chair, jaw stiffened, lifting the cup of _iced-who'sy-whatsits _to his mouth; Blaine had ordered for him. There was also a notable change in his complexion; his cheeks had become ruddy, his face pale, the blood from it long since diverted into the rest of his body. His jeans felt tight. "I'd love to help, if I'm not doing anything better I mean...just, uh." he looked more closely at Blaine. The relaxed demeanor, one leg over the other, hand placed but not holding his cup. Face, anything but hard. "Why _me_, exactly." he tried to find a good way to say this."It's not like we've had a _falling-out _or something..." Blaine seemed to understand.

"I know, but maybe that's the problem. There's still this _tension _between you two." Kurofsky stiffened at the word; felt the sinews in his arms bulge. "I know you guys kind of cleared things up", Blaine noticed the concealed emotion behind his face, "Kurt didn't really say what, exactly, was said...", noted the calmness that had been missing from Dave's eyes since he'd said _why not coffee _the night before over a stilted conversation in a chat window_, _"But I figure it couldn't hurt, besides, Santana says you guys are working BullyWhip duty for the summer, it's not like you have night hours or anything." he shrugged and took a sip.


End file.
